


Crawl Inside and Kiss the Floor

by collie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b Spoilers, Also let me stress that I adore Scott McCall, Blood, Body Trauma, But I love evil!Stiles more, Canon Compliant, Cruelty, Drug-Induced Sex, Forced Orgasm, I think he's precious fierce sunshine in the body of a man, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Nogitsune Stiles, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Okay I think I've Sufficiently Scared Away Any and All Readers With These Tags, Sadism, Stabbing, so there's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/pseuds/collie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nogitsune takes it <i>all</i>; all the fear and pain. He revels in it. The way it shocks his nerves and sets his teeth on edge in the most delicious way. The way it gets his dick hard, and breaks him out in a sweat under all of the rain on his skin. He can taste the salt in the beads of water that run down his face, and he suddenly wants to savor every inch of Scott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl Inside and Kiss the Floor

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a re-imagining of the scene at the end of 3x19: Letharia Vulpina. _You_ know the scene. So obviously spoiler warnings through 3x19.
> 
> This story is messed up and I'm not sorry because I like messed up shit. (✿◠‿◠) Please make sure to read the tags. I (hope I) listed all the trigger warnings there. ENJOY! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

“You okay?” Stiles asks, his eyes narrowing a bit as he peers at Scott.

Scott's grown a katana from his stomach. Stiles is trying not to laugh, but it's all too perfect. The oni came for him, and here he is with two built-in bodyguards. One of them even being the spawn of the very woman trying to destroy him. _Kira_. But Kira's taking a little nap right now.

He leans in and tries his best to show concern on his face, but he knows his eyes are cold. Sharp and vulpine. Thin, spidery fingers dance over the handle of the katana; the _tsuka_. Stiles likes knowing things. He's smart. He likes being smart, clever. It's such a thrill to always be one step ahead.

Scott isn't as smart as him, but he's intuitive. Perceptive. Stiles wants to cheer when he finally sees realization dawning in Scott's watery brown eyes.

“Please, don't,” Scott quietly pleads. “ _Stop_.” There's so much shock and disbelief in his voice, like it's only now that he's really realizing what's happening. Like all of the knowledge from before is something he can hold in his hand and hide away if he needs to. But this is it. This is _real_.

“It's okay,” Stiles says. He tries not to smile as he grabs the handle tight and holds it. Threatening. Scott's eyes widen and he can hear the way Scott's breath hitches up, catches in his throat. The way his heart lurches into hard, steady thuds against his chest. It feels good to have so much power. It feels good to take it away.

He grabs Scott's shoulder in a firm grip and twists the blade almost conversationally. He cants his head as Scott shudders and jerks against it, the gurgle and gasp of his muffled shouts like music to Stiles's ears.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his eyes twitching as they bore into Scott's. “Hey, look at me.” There's no cruel malice in his voice, but he knows his eyes are hard and there's nothing behind them but static.

He sees the pain etched into Scott's face, and of _course_ he's in pain. There's a katana lanced straight through his stomach, the sharp blade scraping at his ever-healing insides. Cutting each wound open fresh again and again with each twist. Stiles wonders what it must have felt like to shove the sharp steel straight through Scott's middle. To get him right in the gut. He shivers and cracks his neck a bit, feeling adrenaline and hunger and anger and lust crawl through his body like fingers with razor-blade nails.

Of course Scott's in pain. Because he thinks that this isn't Stiles. But this _is_ Stiles, and that love is what's going to kill them both.

“You should have done your reading, Scott,” he says calmly. His guts flutter with a sick pleasure as Scott grunts and yells with each digging scrape of the _hasaki_. “See, a nogitsune feeds off chaos, strife, and pain.” Scott's eyes roll back into his head, but Stiles knows he has his best friend's rapt attention. Scott won't dare let himself go anywhere else right now.

“This morning, you took it from Isaac,” he reminds, redoubling his grip on Scott's shoulder as he starts to slump a bit. To tremble hard in shock. “Then you took it from Coach.” He can hear his voice giving a bit as he starts to feel overwhelmed. “And then from a dying deputy,” he says with a heavy sigh. It's itching now, that gnawing pit inside of him. That darkness through his soul and around his heart that's yearning and demanding to be filled.

He kneads at Scott's shoulder as his friend sags a slumps a bit more, both trying to keep him aware and to keep him focused. What Stiles has to say is _important_ , doesn't Scott get that? Stiles _needs_ Scott, he's trying to tell him. He's trying to make him _understand_.

“All that pain,” Stiles says, heaving a deep breath. “You took it all.” Scott's eyes widen as Stiles reaches up and grabs him by the side of the face, his grip on the _tsuka_ tightening. “Now,” Stiles says through clenched teeth as he leans close, fingers digging in behind Scott's ear. “Give it to me.” His voice distorts slightly as he starts to shake a bit, feeling and smelling and practically _tasting_ all of the pain simmering inside of Scott. Dancing just below his skin.

Stiles takes it all. He _revels_ in it. The way it shocks his nerves and sets his teeth on edge in the most delicious way. The way it gets his dick hard, and breaks him out in a sweat under all of the rain on his skin. He can taste the salt in the beads of water that run down his face, and he suddenly wants to taste every inch of Scott.

Stiles strengthens his grip on the _tsuka_ and yanks the blade out with absolutely no care for his friend's body. The hand on Scott's face slides back down to to grip painfully hard at the juncture where neck and shoulder meet, and in Scott's weakened state he's easily overpowered. Not that he wouldn't be anyway, Stiles thinks smugly. The nogitsune is more powerful than any alpha werewolf.

With a snarl, Stiles yanks at Scott's shoulder and pulls him upright before pushing him over and shoving him face first against the table. Scott grunts and lets out a pained gasp, and Stiles is pretty sure he can hear his name somewhere in those shallow breaths, but he ignores it. With a wicked spark in his eyes he grabs the katana in both hands, long fingers drumming along the handle as he gets a good grip.

“I can't let you get away, you know?” Stiles says, his voice ragged and catching on the pure _want_ in his throat. “I just need you to stick around for a little longer. I just... I just _need_ you–” Stiles brings the blade back down again, all shiny and red with blood, and impales Scott's shoulder clean through. He howls in pain and Stiles just grunts and hisses, bearing his weight down so the sharp, strong steel goes right through the vet's table, pinning Scott down.

Stiles's erection is uncomfortable against the front of his corduroy pants, and the sight of Scott pinned like a butterfly makes him ache and throb. There's a tiny, muffled voice inside of Stiles's head that's screaming at him right now; screaming at him to _Stop! You have to fucking stop!_ But it's so easily ignored. So easily extinguished. Just like a firefly.

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott croaks, twisting carefully on the table so he can look behind him. So he can watch as Stiles moves away, checking drawers and cabinets. Those long fingers poking around and handling things.

“Shh,” Stiles hisses softly through his teeth. He flashes an impatient look back at Scott, feeling a triumphant surge of power as Scott seems to shrink under his glare, actually dropping his eyes and turning back to face forward. Stiles can hear his little sounds; the soft whimpers of pain and the shallow, struggling breaths. The way the metal edge of the table creaks with each strong grip of Scott's hands as they curl around to hold himself up.

It takes nearly two full minutes for Stiles to find what he's looking for. He finally makes his way back over and sets two items down on the table, right within Scott's line of sight. A bottle of hand lotion and a small vial of hydromorphone.

“We're gonna have a good time, Scott,” Stiles says calmly, smiling as Scott flinches at the only other sound in the dark, still air; the soft, metallic snick as Stiles unfastens his belt. “I took all the fear and pain that you had,” Stiles continues, rubbing his hand over the hard bulge in the front of his pants with a low sound. “I drank it all up. Isaac's, Coach's, the deputy's...” He moves in right behind Scott and grabs _his_ belt, smirking as Scott jerks and bucks back at him, growling at him to get away. “I took all of theirs, but I didn't get any of yours.”

Scott barks out a choking cough, spraying a little blood out onto the shiny metal surface of the table. Stiles has no doubt his stomach wound is nearly healed, but the blood has to get out somehow. The blade still holds his shoulder pinned, so all he can do is writhe. Stiles likes that. He likes how Scott is bent over all helpless, and he likes that it's because of him.

Stiles unbuckles Scott's belt and slowly pulls it out of his belt-loops, leaning over slightly to greedily inhale the scent of apprehension wafting off of Scott. It's in Scott's gut, this fear of the unknown. This confusion and horror and shock. The love for Stiles, coupled with the revulsion of having something like this happening between them. To have something that could have been so sacrosanct so thoroughly sullied.

It's fucking delicious.

Stiles grabs the vial of hydromorphone and sucks a small dose of the liquid up into a syringe. Scott's head twists back sharply, his eyes wide and shining with too many emotions to sort through. “Stiles, _don't_ ,” he pleads, his voice edging on hysteria.

It's at that moment that Kira stirs. She lets out a soft, pained moan as her supine body begins to slowly shift back to consciousness. Stiles snorts derisively and kicks her under the chin, effectively sending her back to la la land for a good while longer.

“Fuck, Kira,” Scott gasps, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut against threatening tears. Stiles tuts softly, as if that's meant to comfort Scott. The kitsune isn't dead, though it's in Stiles's best interest to end her right now. But that's not part of the plan. Not yet, anyway.

“This will take the edge off,” he says as he plunges the needle into the muscle of Scott's arm. “It's like morphine, but trust me, with the dose I gave you, you don't get to blank out on me. It'll just make you more... pliant.”

He watches as the drug takes effect. He picked it because it's fast-acting, and with Scott's werewolf metabolism it only takes a few seconds. His tensed muscles start to relax and his eyes lid a bit, glazing over. His breathing slows slightly, and Stiles can see the blush to his skin as his blood starts to rush, already trying to push the toxins out.

Perfect.

“Now your body will behave,” Stiles murmurs. He grabs Scott's jeans and boxers and tugs them unceremoniously down, revealing a perfectly-toned ass and firm thighs. Every muscle is still lightly bunched as Scott struggles to hold himself up, lest the sword do it for him. Stiles grabs both handfuls of Scott's ass and gives it a squeeze, smirking as Scott lets out a guttural sound of either protest or encouragement. Either one is good for Stiles.

“I think I might like guys,” Stiles says conversationally as he slides his thick thumb along the dry cleft, rubbing it firmly over Scott's asshole. The skin there is darker than the rest, like Scott's nipples. He wonders what it tastes like. “I guess I should start with you, since you're my best friend, and all.” He teases a thumbnail over Scott's rim, his own cock twitching pleasantly as Scott whines softly. “You want to give me this, right? You want to give me _everything._ ” His whisper is harsh as he drops to his knees. “And I'm gonna take it all.”

Scott makes a sound like he's been punched when Stiles presses his mouth against the taut skin, his tongue snaking out slick and hot over Scott's hole. He holds Scott's cheeks open and plunges his tongue in, tasting musk and heat and salt. Fear, anger, and grief chase it, with just that perfect edge of reluctant arousal. That's the fire he wants to fan.

Stiles bites at firm skin as he forces his tongue deeper, his fingers digging roughly into Scott's muscle. His tongue slicks in and out like a fucked up little piston, and each whine and choking groan coming from Scott sinks into his skin and makes it hum. He moves a hand around to palm over Scott's dick, hanging soft and warm between his tense, shaking thighs, and thinks _that's not good enough_. That's not participation.

“Scotty,” Stiles whispers harshly against spit-slicked skin. “You have to play with me or this is gonna get ugly for Kira.” Scott freezes and sucks in a shaky breath. Stiles grins, and it's ugly and mean. He presses his mouth back against Scott's hole anyway because this is all so ugly and mean, and that's what's going to make them both come.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Scott gasps against the table. Stiles can hear the shrill sound of claws scratching over metal and it sends a shiver down his spine. Not enough, though. It's not enough. He wants more, more, _more_. He curls his hand around Scott's dick and gives it a cruel squeeze, moaning softly at the sound of Scott's strangled cry. But as the drugs soak deeper into his skin and blood and bones, Scott begins to have less and less control of that tenuous little bridge between mind and body, and Stiles finally feels him starting to harden and thicken in his hand.

“Mm, _yes_ ,” Stiles hisses softly, pulling his mouth away as his tongue licks at the string of spit that clings obscenely between his lips and Scott's hole. Stiles feels the little ache in his hands as small claws push out of his fingertips, beading up blood as they tear through his flesh. With a final drag of his tongue, full and wet along Scott's cleft, Stiles pushes back up to his feet.

He stares down at Scott and grabs the bottle of lotion, absently licking his lips as his eyes burn to a ruddy golden red. He can smell Scott's resent, his fear, and his impotent rage. He can smell the saline of tears. The rush of blood flushing his skin, making him warm and receptive. There's one thing missing, though. One thing that will make this all perfect.

Stiles shoves his pants and boxers down, quickly lubing himself with the lotion. He shivers a bit because it's cold, but that'll change quickly enough. “You ready for me, Scott?” he murmurs, his voice thick with greedy lust and a hunger for so many dark, nasty things.

“Don't, _don't_ ,” Scott gasps, craning his neck and trying to look Stiles in the eye. “Don't do this, Stiles. _Please_ don't let it win.”

“Don't let _what_ win, Scott?” Stiles asks. He feigns ignorance as he presses the flushed, swollen head of his cock against Scott's tight hole, all pretty and shiny with his spit. “There's no one here but me.”

Stiles grins and reaches up to grab the handle of the sword. He twists and wrenches it around in the meat of Scott's shoulder as he slowly pushes his thick cock into Scott's unwilling body. Scott yells out at the pain and the invasion, and Stiles can hear the edge of the table bend under his hands. The wolf's strength is subdued but not dead. Stiles sucks in a soft, shaky breath as pleasure overwhelms him, because everything is perfect, perfect, perfect.

“ _Fuuuuck_ , Scotty,” he groans, his tongue darting out to lick at his slowly sharpening teeth as he sinks in completely past Scott's rim, seating himself fully inside. “You feel so fucking good. I can't wait to hurt you more.” Scott chokes on shuddering breath and trembles violently as Stiles jerks the sword again. The pained, betrayed sound he makes is absolutely blissful as fresh, bright red blood wells up from the puckered wound trying so desperately to heal around the blade pinning Scott's shoulder.

“Oh god, oh god, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Scott babbles. “Stop, stop, _please_.” His throat constricts around the words because he's having trouble breathing now as Stiles fucks hard into him. Stiles knows from the few times he's squeezed his own throat while jerking off that Scott's gonna come _so hard_ and it's gonna be _so good_.

He leans his weight against Scott's back and presses him firmly against the edge of the table, practically cutting off his air and leaving Scott gasping and gaping. He slips his hands under Scott's jacket and shirt and plants both palms on the flat plane of Scott's back, smoothing them almost gently along his shoulder-blade and spine as he snaps his hips with hard, heavy thrusts. He clacks his little needle-teeth together and grinds them against the groan in his throat, because base, carnal pleasure is only second to what he _really_ wants.

His digs sharp claws into Scott's back and tears them down, ripping furrows right through his flesh and letting out a wash of blood. Scott howls and jerks, bucking his hips and bending up the side of the table. Stiles's eyes roll back into his head as a wave of fear and pain so fierce hits him straight in the gut. It's better than fucking, it's better than pizza, it's better than winning at Call of Duty; it's better than _anything_.

Pain is the best drug. It's his only addiction now.

“Oh my _god_ , Scott,” he groans, his voice thick and his head heady with it all. His hips stutter and his thrusts grow erratic as he shoves Scott's clothes up, rucking them under his armpits with no care for the sword's blade. He drops his head to press his cheek against Scott's back, between his shoulder-blades. The feel of hot blood, slick on his cheek, shoots like a shivery zing down his spine and straight to his cock. He whines like an animal and grinds his hips against Scott's ass, listening to him sob a cry of pleasure as Stiles drags the head of his cock along his prostate again and again.

“Mm... gonna make you come so hard,” Stiles purrs, dragging his teeth along the back of Scott's neck. “Just wait, Scotty... it's gonna be so fucking good.” He grins against the hot skin as Scott's alpha instincts flare up, and he can practically see the reflection of twin red eyes staring back up at him from the metal table, smeared in blood.

Scott growls and snarls, tearing up his shoulder against the katana blade as he struggles to throw Stiles off. Stiles knows he's down to precious seconds before Scott loses it, and that won't do. Scott doesn't get to die. Game's not over, yet; not until Stiles says it is.

Stiles grabs the bottle of lotion and squirts a messy glob into his palm before reaching down and grabbing Scott's dick, earning him a shudder and the snap of fangs as Scott's teeth come together painfully hard. Stiles shoots up straight as one of Scott's hands claws back at him, grabbing at air as Scott drools out blood through his clenched teeth.

“Stop that,” Stiles says with a grimace, grabbing Scott by the wrist and restraining his hand as he leans back down and practically splays over Scott's back, pinning him breathless again. He noses into Scott's hair and jerks his dick hard and fast, keeping his own thrusts deep and quick, nimble, slippery fingers playing along all of Scott's sensitive parts; the perfect touch.

It doesn't take much to make Scott fall apart. It's all just electricity in the brain, right? Every thought, feeling, emotion. Pleasure, pain, all of it. It all comes from the same place, and it all boils down to one thing: Release.

Stiles slams brusingly hard into Scott's ass when he comes, groaning shamelessly as he fills Scott with his come, his smell, his mark. His hips jerk in tiny aftershocks as he throbs deep inside, hissing lightly as Scott tightens uncomfortably around him in his pathetic attempt not to come.

“Come on, come on,” Stiles chants through his teeth, which are flat, straight and human again. “Come _on,_ you little shit.” He can _smell_ Scott coming up, feel the heat in his skin and the way his balls tighten so hard it must be painful. “Come on, give it to me, Scotty.” His words are practically drowned out by Scott's sobs of relief as he finally spills himself into Stiles's hand, shaking near uncontrollably from the shock his body is enduring as he unwillingly comes _hard_. Stiles's grin is drunk and satisfied as he laps at a blood-sticky patch of Scott's skin, practically purring.

“ _Finally_ , fuck.” Stiles licks his blood-tacky lips and pulls his softening dick out of Scott with a lewd sound. He doesn't even bother pulling his pants up as he grabs the _tsuka_ and yanks the katana out of both the table and Scott before tossing it away, sending it clattering off to the other side of the room.

Scott collapses to the floor immediately, a mess of limp limbs, blood, disheveled clothing, and come leaking out of his ass. He looks like a victim of the worst kind of sexual assault, and Stiles tilts his head, admiring his work. It's only now that he's done that he reaches down and tugs his boxers and corduroy pants back up, taking his time to fasten everything back into place as he watches Scott. Watches him wheezing on the floor, his eyes barely open. His hands curled into loose fists, no claws, no fangs, no alpha eyes. Just pretty brown wet with tears.

“Stiles,” Scott whispers around a soft, slow exhale of breath. But that's it. No pleading, no begging. Nothing.

“Don't try to manipulate me,” Stiles scoffs, feeling a sudden wave of disgust and insult from the way Scott's looking at him. He sneers and lifts a foot, angling it perfectly over Scott's face, feeling a fierce swell of smug joy as Scott's eyes widen in horror.

He brings the heel of his shoe down _,_ feeling a surge of power at the _crunch_ –

 

Stiles wakes up screaming Scott's name.

It's nothing new for him. You think he'd be used to it by now. But no one gets used to this kind of cold, deep, drowning fear. The feeling of losing yourself. Never knowing if you're asleep or awake. Watching yourself spiral out of control. The feeling that your body is being used against you and your mind is no longer your own.

He's screaming and screaming and no one will help him. No one will comfort him or tell him things are going to be okay. There are no warm arms around him, no soothing voices. Only bruising touches and harsh yelling and the sharp prick of needles in the most unnecessary of places. _Stiles hates needles._ He shivers and struggles but the orderlies only grip him tighter.

“Better than a prick in _Scott's_ ass, right Stiles?” croons a devastatingly familiar voice.

“Shut up!” Stiles shouts. He's suddenly hysterical as the voice pushes some sort of Pavlovian button in him. “Shut up! Shut up!” His heart is sure to break his ribs any second now, and when his pulse explodes from his neck it'll paint the walls red. The nogitsune smirks and leans back into its corner, and Stiles swears he sees huge shadows like tails crawling up the walls to cover him.

To cover _him_. Because it's Stiles's own face staring back at him.

He fights against the hands that hold him, yanking his arms and throwing himself around. But he can feel the slime of sedation working its way through his bloodstream. The sick death of sleep is fogging at the edges of his vision. _Not again not again no no not again._

“No, I can't go to sleep!” he sobs, begging as he grabs at the orderlies. “Please, you don't understand...” He's ignored. Laughed at and ignored. Like he's some small insect or a toy to be played with.

“Sleep, Stiles,” the nogitsune says softly as Stiles slumps to the floor, mumbling and pleading incoherently. “Maybe you'll have even _more_ pleasant dreams.” There's a horrible smile in his voice and Stiles swears he can smell death on the thing's breath. “Maybe one day you'll even dream of getting out of here.”

“They'll come and get me,” Stiles whispers, though his tongue is heavy and thick in his mouth. “They'll come and save me.” His limbs stick to the floor like magnets and his joints creak and protest at his cold, hard makeshift bed.

“Are you sure?” the nogitsune says, allowing a bit of trepidation to creep into his voice as he peels himself away from the wall, enveloping the entire tiny room in shadow. “Can you really be sure, Stiles, of just exactly how long you've been here? Are you _sure_ anyone is coming to get you?”

The door to the quiet room shuts with the heavy sound of finality just as the door in Stiles's mind bursts wide open, again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://galaxied.tumblr.com/) . [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxied) . [policy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/profile)


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